The Long Run
by Oodontheloo
Summary: Sherlock's gone and John needs him back. IDK, I suck at summaries. Be nice? Rated T for sexual themes but nothing graphic. One-shot with possible sequel on request.


The Long Run

He's in one of his moods again. He hasn't moved from his char for three hours, not speaking, certainly not eating. I'm not entirely sure that he's still breathing. It's all down to Moriarty. Sherlock can't cope with being beaten, not by anybody. In his mind, if he's not the best, he's nothing. Worthless. He lives off the praise of others- knowing that he's untouchable and above everyone else because no one can outsmart the Almighty Sherlock Holmes- and who would dare?

James Moriarty, apparently. Sweet, gay little Jim is willing to take on Sherlock Holmes and he's won. Or so Sherlock thinks. And what is he if he's not the best? He doesn't have a social life. Or friends, for that matter. In his eyes, he's nothing. If he can't protect those around him then what is he good for? Selfish bastard. He wasn't the one with a bomb strapped to his chest!

I'm so scared. I really don't know what to do. How can I make him understand how much I need him? He's my best friend and he's given me so much. How can I protect him from himself? He's turned completely unresponsive. It's like he's not even there. I've been trying for hours and nothing's worked. If only I could make him see how much he means to me, even if it meant rejection and him moving away in disgust- surely that's better than losing him altogether?

It's decided. I have to try it. There's nothing left except this. I move around to his chair so that I'm facing him. Crouching, I take one of his hands in mine. It's got to be worth a try, right? It's his eyes that scare me, every time I try to make eye contact, it's like he's looking straight through me. It's like he's disappearing from the inside out. I plough on regardless,

"Sherlock?" No reply. "Sherlock I need you to listen to me, right now. This is important." Still nothing. I can't hold back anymore. It's like a tidal wave of words, desperate to spill from deep inside of me.

"Sherlock, I need you to stop this. Right now. I'm terrified. You're my best friend and I feel so helpless and I need to find a way to help you because I need you back. You're the only thing I've got and I need you to stay with me. You made me so much better than who I was. You made my life have meaning again. After Afghanistan, I thought that was it. That was my whole life and there was nothing else but waiting. And you came striding in with your cheekbones and your coat and I was dragged under your spell, just like everyone else. Solving cases with you was exciting and dangerous but it was more than that. It was meeting someone so arrogant, so rude, so blunt and yet so brilliant all at the same time and for that person to want to know me was the most fantastic feeling in the world. Just being around you, Sherlock, it's fantastic. It's like I've been waiting my whole life to meet you and the rest of it's just been killing time. I need you, Sherlock. Moriarty beat you once, just once but that wasn't just him. It takes more than one man to take down Sherlock Holmes. He has an entire network set up and he caught you off guard. You are brilliant, Sherlock. In every sense of the word. You are completely and utterly fantastic and I love you. I really do and I'm not going to deny it anymore just like you can't deny that you knew. I was hardly being subtle in the café and it's okay that you turned me down but I needed you to hear it."

Breathless, I search his face for any sign of life. Any small glimmer of hope. Oh god, I can't help him. There's nothing I can do. He's gone. I'm getting so worked up that I don't notice it at first. Slowly, the fingers of his left hand, which I now realise I was clutching rather tightly, start to move. My heart's racing, I'm so terrified. So, so terrified. But that's definitely his thumb sliding across my hand. His brow is crinkled, as if in terrible pain. His eyes slowly begin to show signs of life as he blinks a few times and looks at me.

"John?" He looks so scared. Of what, I'm not quite sure. "John. John. Oh god, John I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. I love you too, of course I love you too. I was just so scared. I didn't think you… I thought… Oh god, John" He's crying now and it's all I can do not to pull him into my arms but I know I need to be patient with this man. This infuriating, beautiful man.

Slowly, he rises from the chair and I rise with him, our hands never breaking contact. I'm not sure what to do now. However, he makes the decision for me and removes his hand from mine, placing both hiss hands on my hips. I'm full of emotions, all swirling around and tripping over each other- anger at him leaving me alone, sadness that he has such a low opinion if himself and overwhelming joy at being accepted. In the end, joy wins out and I can't hold back any longer. I place my hands on either side of his head and crush our lips together. The feeling is utterly indescribable. When people describe kisses as being electric I had never understood up until this moment. Right now, I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with this man. I can't think and all my senses are overridden by Sherlock.

As the kiss grows more passionate, I feel Sherlock's tongue force its way into my mouth and I let out a rather embarrassing moan. Smirking against my lips, he pushes me against the door and my hand knots in his hair. He approaches kissing as he does everything else in life- with precision and an analytical outlook. He explores my mouth and searches for things that are rewarded with a reaction. After exploiting one point, he moves to the next and, you know what? I fucking love every second of it. He slides a hand under my shirt and finds a nipple, after eliciting a remarkably explicit moan, he looks down at me and grins.

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."


End file.
